


Relaxation

by Thyra279



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group I [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bickering, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, intimate muscle relaxation, ish, obviously, sounds more hardcore than it is, sweet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279
Summary: Aziraphale has bought Crowley a deep tissue massager for intimate muscle relaxation to cure his aching limbs... that's it. That's all it is. HE SAID THAT'S ALL IT IS, CROWLEY....Or is it?(Pretty softcore smut tbh, borders on M. Also very stupid.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group I [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937917
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Unexpected Delivery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648800) by [The_Bentley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley). 



"It is."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"It _isn't_."

"Eeeeurgh, Angel!" The demon huffed. "You love reading, so come on, do it, just read what it says!" Crowley pointed frantically at the text printed on the side of the sleek black box, brought it up to Aziraphale's face, left it in his hands:

" _Deep tissue massager for intimate muscle relaxation_."

The demon cocked his hip triumphantly, let himself fall softly back against the tabletop, arms crossed over his chest. "It _is._ "

His ancient face erupted into a giant victorious grin.

It was infuriatingly irritating. It was infuriatingly irritating how lovely it was, too. Even a year ago, seeing such a thing on him would have been entirely impossible. Aziraphale found himself rather charmed. Again. Very nearly willing to forego the argument.

Unfortunately, the truth must prevail.

"I am telling you, my dearest demon, it is nothing untoward, and the fact that you would look at this _medical instrument_ and think it an object of depravity quite frankly says much more about you and your own-… your own _debauchery_ than it does about this perfectly innocent deep tissue massager."

Crowley scoffed.

"You love it, Angel, you love my _debauchery_."

"Oh, I don't believe I ever said anything to the contrary." Aziraphale met his eyes, briefly, before looking demurely away again. It was a little gesture he had perfected through the ages, just for Crowley's sake. Well, for both of their sakes, really; he did so enjoy what it did to the demon. He chanced a second glance, looking up from the box in his hands, and yes, _how lovely_ , Crowley clearly needed a moment to collect himself.

Aziraphale let him have it, putting all his concentration into opening up the box instead. It really _was_ very enticing packaging, Aziraphale could admit as much. To himself. Privately.

He checked to see that the demon had reconnected with this realm.

"What I _do_ object to, Crowley, is your suggestion that I would go out of my way to purchase such an object when I in actual fact had your poor aching limbs in mind," he insisted as the thin plastic film fell away and the lid came off the box. "Lord knows they put in an exemplary performance every single day. I simply thought that I might try to… well. To give you a massage – _just a nice, standard_ massage, Crowley," he threw in when the demon grinned. And blast it all, Aziraphale couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling back.

His voice came out much lower than intended. "On the couch, please, if you don't mind."

"Alright," Crowley sniffed, pushing his hips back off the edge of the table to walk the room to the old battered couch, fingers dipped carefully into the tight pockets of his very tight jeans.

Aziraphale could have sworn the demon swung his hips about even more sloppily than usual as he made it past the _Factual: History of the Isle of Man_ section. Surely those poor old things could do with a nice old massage…

He quickly looked away when Crowley glanced back across his shoulder.

The giant smirk that met him as the demon turned around and stretched told him he hadn't been quick enough. "Come on, then, Angel," he goaded, stretching his arms towards the ceiling, languidly, as far as they would go, exposing a little bit of skin, so dramatically pale against his dark clothes. Aziraphale knew there would be dark copper hairs there, too, he'd felt them on his own lips just last night, coarse and tickly against his chin, guiding him along as he-…

"Oy, Aziraphale – Earth to Angel – I said how d'you want me?"

"Well, it says in the instructions that the instrument works best directly on the skin," Aziraphale's voice came out just a little too light as he took out the instrument in question, left the box on his desk and followed. "In the nude, please."

Crowley lifted an eyebrow, his brilliant yellow eyes sparkling when they met his own. Oh, he was _beautiful_. They crinkled just a little at the corners, such a human thing around his serpent eyes, when they dipped down the principality's own very human corporation.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be naked too, Angel? Looks like you could do with the room."

"All in good time, my dear." Aziraphale switched on the instrument, watching eagerly as the serpent shed his clothes and plopped himself down on the couch, long legs hanging off the end of it, hands at the back of his head. He sought out the principality's gaze before making a show of adjusting himself, throwing one elegant leg across the back of the couch.

Aziraphale sat himself down on the coffee table, directly on to a book, which he didn't notice; he barely even felt the gentle pulsing of the instrument against his own thigh, lost in the spectacle in front of him.

At least until the spectacle winked at him.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, pulled himself together. "You're supposed to be on your back, you fiend."

"Nah, Angel, s'more fun this way. Besides, my stomach muscles ache _terrifically_ , I assure you, come here, feel for yourself." The old devil grabbed Aziraphale's wrist and pulled his hand down to his lower stomach, flattening it out and leaving it there, just by those little hairs, tucking his own hand back behind his head. " _Awfully_ painful."

"Just there?" Aziraphale asked softly, lost to the sensation of soft skin, the warmth of Crowley's stomach as it moved up and down just slightly with every gentle, shallow breath.

It took a moment for Crowley to answer, his voice dark and gravelly. He let out an audible swallow. "Bit lower, actually."

The buzzing was almost obscene in the silence that followed, as Aziraphale let his eyes rake across the gorgeous being in front of him, the dips and edges and soft, _soft_ skin, fingers trailing down through those dark hairs.

Their eyes met briefly, warm and playful, and then that little everyday miracle happened and it was something else entirely: Crowley's breath stilled and he looked away to watch Aziraphale's hand, smirk fading slowly into honest, open wonder. Aziraphale kept his eyes on him, watched how he got up on his elbows to look down himself, bravado forgotten, just as Aziraphale's hand closed around his cock, warm and soft and wonderful in his loose grip.

It was such a privilege, this, to see Crowley so vulnerable, to witness the faint blush in his cheeks as Aziraphale trailed his fingers gently up his shaft. To get to do this to him, finally, to be allowed to feel the power he held in such a gentle touch, to have the demon harden in his hand, just for him, for them. Aziraphale whispered his thanks on to the demon's lips every chance he got, counted his blessings onto his skin every day, just like now, Crowley twitching in his hand, hot and delicate and so wonderfully honest, so responsive to his touch. No need for show.

He was so beautiful like this, his demon, the best of all creation.

The instrument let out a furious buzz as it fell to the floor, onto the thick, dusty carpet below, forgotten but joined soon after by Aziraphale's knees as he pressed the first soft kiss to Crowley's thigh.

Eventually, months from now, they did get round to using it; discovered its true purpose, or at least the purpose they decided to use it for. Sometimes frequently.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Crowley's Shoebox of Pleasures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649631) by [Scmnz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/pseuds/Scmnz)




End file.
